Hooked

sandwich.
    So, cleavage and demure. Simple. Tawny chose a white, translucent but not see-through Armani linen shirt. She’d unbutton it as low as legally allowable before leaving for the deli, but for now she tucked it into a fitted black skirt that brushed the tops of her knees. She never wore minis except at the beach. They screamed hooker to her, and for the money she charged, that’s the last thing her clients wanted her to look like, unless they did. She’d contracted a few of those over the years.
    She pulled two shoe boxes from her closet. One, a pair of red Tod’s flats to wear during her morning at the museum; the other, Jimmy Choo strappy heels, she dropped into the red Prada satchel for her meeting with Cooper. She’d better take good care of her clothes, because she wouldn’t be spending money on labels from now on. They were tools of the trade, and her trade had ended, or so she thought until Walsh. She stood back from the mirror. It’ll do .
    Tawny took the subway uptown and walked the short distance to the Metropolitan. Unless she was out of the city, she did that every Tuesday for her volunteer job as a docent, sharing her knowledge of Greek, Etruscan, and Roman art with the tour groups that came through the museum. The unpaid position fed her soul. Non-working hours afforded her time to roam the museum, absorbing the over two million works of art from classical antiquity to modern day, including the ever-changing traveling collections.
    She worked the tour at her usual ten a.m. hour and chatted with a few of the employees after. None knew any more about her than she had a doctorate in art history and she volunteered her time at the museum. They’d undoubtedly be shocked to learn about the flip side of her life, but that was no one’s business. Too many people knew as it was.
    She bought a Bastet Egyptian cat at the Met store that she’d coveted for weeks to add to her collection of authentic and reproduction pieces. Maybe it was the ominous task before her that prompted her to feel deserving of a gift.
    She left to find the health food store on 87 th . She really wasn’t a health food nut, didn’t take all the supplements, pills, or other overpriced supposedly health-related products. Only a multi-vitamin and a calcium pill to delay the aging process, if only psychologically. If Walsh labeled her a health food nut because she didn’t eat animals, that was his perception, and she knew better than anyone that perceptions were hard to change. The night in the hotel room proved that.
    She walked up Fifth to 87 th , crossed Madison , Park, and Lexington and found the health food store exactly where Walsh said. She spotted the awning of Gruber’s Deli a few doors east. Browsing inside the health food store, she picked up a bottle of multi vitamins with extra calcium and magnesium, then found a deserted corner. She pulled her heels out of the satchel, slipped them on, tucked her flats in the bag, and unbuttoned her blouse two more buttons. That ought to do it.
    Her cell rang. Unlike the morning call, this time Walsh greeted her cordially, then went straight to business.
    “Cooper left his building a minute ago and is walking toward the deli. If you leave in a few minutes and time it right, you’ll run right into him.”
    “I have to make a purchase first, and I’m on my way.”
    “Tawny?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good luck, and be careful. Call back on this number if you need me.”
    “Okay.” She turned off her phone. Walsh almost sounded worried. Probably didn’t want any problems to mess up his career.
    She took the small shopping bag with her purchase—something to show for her walk to 87 th from the museum—put on her Gucci sunglasses, and headed toward the Deli.
    She’d dressed to attract Benny Cooper, and from the attention she was getting from every male who passed, she’d chosen her outfit well. Was Walsh spying from some safe retreat like he had at the beach? Of course he was. Doing his job, he’d say.
    Damn, Tawny, put Walsh out of your mind. This is business. A way to stay out of federal prison for committing a federal crime. Nothing more.
    She saw Cooper diagonally crossing the street on a collision course to the deli door. Dressed impeccably as always, he hadn’t aged much since their last meeting. A little more gray in his hair, a tiny pot belly, and a few extra wrinkles that defined men over fifty as distinguished. Would he recognize her?
    Yup, he saw her. With